


Midnight in Bucharest

by mx_mond



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 18:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20746757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mx_mond/pseuds/mx_mond
Summary: After the events of Captain America: Civil War the rogue Avengers made their escape. Maybe Sam and Natasha can finally relax? Maybe they can relax... together?





	Midnight in Bucharest

It's nearing midnight and Sam thinks he can finally relax. If anyone's after them, they're probably not gonna bring down the door at this hour. Unless that's exactly what they - and between the US government, the almighty Tony Stark himself or, hell, the United Nations there's no shortage of possible them - are banking on. But no. If they do somehow get wind of where the rebel Avengers are, they're gonna wait till morning, the small hours where you're still asleep or not yet functioning properly anyway. Which means he can relax.

Relax, dammit.

“I’m not sure about this bread!” shouts Natasha from the kitchen. “But we have cheese! And… wine?”

“Yes, please!” he shouts in reply. Wine. Yes. Just what he needs.

Laughter comes from the kitchen, then creaking of cupboard doors, then clinking of glasses, then Nat–asha, Natasha, he never heard anyone call her “Nat”, doesn’t know why this name suddenly appeared in his head.

“Celebrating something?” she asks, sitting beside him on the couch. She puts the glasses on the table, ignores his hand reached out for the bottle, takes out a Swiss army knife from her… was it in her pocket? her belt? he has no idea – chooses the corkscrew, opens the bottle expertly. Pours out the wine.

“Escaping to Bucharest intact? I feel like that’s worth celebrating. The hideout’s pretty sweet.”

They’re in a loft of a disused industrial building, all brick and latticed windows. Rough and sparsely furnished, but at midnight quite charming, with just a side light and the wine, and Nat.

She hands him a glass and sips some wine from hers.

“Yeah. It’s good that Steve has all that back pay from the Army.”

He takes a sip as well. The wine has a fruity, a little sour taste.

“It’s good that you moved it before the government froze his account.”

She gives him one of her half-smiles – enticing or cautious, he wonders.

“Can you imagine the headlines if that leaked to the press?” She gestures in the air, conjuring an imaginary headline. “‘Captain America: The First Tax-Evader.’”

“Taxi Vader?” he cups his hands around his mouth and breathes in loudly. “No, *I* am your driver.”

She stares, confused, and he blushes, ashamed, goddammit, Wilson, you fucking dork, he wants to explain, but then she throws her head back and roars with laughter. There’s nothing cautious about it and he smiles, pleased with himself.

“Anyway,” she says after she calms down and wipes tears from her eyes. “Steve and Sharon seem to have hit it off.”

“Right,” says Sam.

“You’re not happy?” she asks and he wonders briefly how he should reply, whether she’s trying to extract something from him, whether he’ll get in trouble if he says what he really thinks – but knows she wouldn’t. Trusts her.

“You know…” he takes a deep breath. “I think he was grieving Peggy. And now he’s grieving Bucky, too. But I’m not sure he knows what he’s doing and I worry he’s going to hurt her.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” she says, taking another sip and raising her eyebrow. “I think she knows what she’s doing.”

“The ‘what’ being Steve?”

She smiles, a little wider this time, less guardedly, then changes tack suddenly:

“What about you? Met anyone special?”

He sucks air loudly through his teeth, in mock-hurt.

“Wow. I walked right into this one, didn’t I?”

She makes a sad face in mock-commiseration.

“It’s hard to meet someone when everybody keeps shooting at you, you know?”

“Yeah. I know,” she says. The corners of her mouth drop for a moment, the ironic distance and self-deprecating humor that creates an illusion of confidence fall away. She looks sad and dejected and he isn’t even thinking about it, just puts a hand to her cheek and says “Hey”, and she looks up at him with tears and hurt, and loneliness, and hope, and he kisses her. She stiffens.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling back. “I misread…”

“No,” she says, reaching towards him, straddling him, kissing him back.

“You didn’t,” she whispers between kisses, and he holds her close, her warmth, tastes the sourness of her lips and he doesn’t have to think it.

He just relaxes.

Outside, the bells of Bucharest strike midnight.


End file.
